


062. Spring

by BadWolfonBakerStreet



Series: BadWolfonBakerStreet's fanfic100 challenge [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, retirement!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfonBakerStreet/pseuds/BadWolfonBakerStreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up and it takes a bit for him to figure out what his husband must be up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	062. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> It's spring, everybody! And I'm so happy that I had to write something about it.

When John woke up he didn't open his eyes right away. He could feel the breeze from the open window on his face and hear the birds sing. He noticed that one of his legs was hanging out of the bed, it must have been too warm under the duvet.

 

When he opened his eyes he smiled at the patterns the sun was drawing on the ceiling of the bedroom. John wasn't surprised to see Sherlock's side of the bed empty. Sherlock slept more and regularly now, John made sure of that, but he still needed less sleep then most people.

 

Slowly John sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He was immediately reminded that he overdid his exercises yesterday, his muscles were hurting all over. Two years ago they probably would have been a bit tense, nothing a hot shower couldn't fix, but he was really getting old now. They both were. Sherlock was a few years younger and he tried to hide it but he wasn't as fit as he used to be. Well, that's what not running around London and chasing criminals does for you, John thought.

 

Sherlock had also bought hair dye the first time John had pointed out that there was a grey hair on his head. He grinned. One of the greatest minds of the planet and he was thrown off by a grey hair. Sherlock always had been vain, but now it was harder to hide. Doing his hair took longer and his old suits didn't fit any more. Last week they had gone up to London for a fitting. When one of the shop assistants had offered Sherlock something _'a little more suitable'_ , namely a tweed jacket, Sherlock had glared at him until the young man nervously went to answer his phone, that hadn't been ringing.

 

“It had elbow patches, John. _Elbow patches_!”, he had hissed when they were on the train back home. “If I actually ever should wear something like that abomination, please put me in a nursery home, so the rest of me can rot, just like my brain.” John had stifled a snicker and hid his grin behind the newspaper.

 

“You do realize, I have a jacket that looks almost exactly like that?”

 

“On you it looks _right_.”

 

“The abomination looks right on me, well, thank you very much, darling.” If he hadn't added the 'darling'Sherlock might have thought he was offended. After 20 years together the man still didn't understand a lot of emotional reactions. But he would never think John was serious when he ended a sentence with something ridiculous as 'darling'. They sometimes used 'love' as a term of endearment, but usually they stuck to John and Sherlock, both not really being the verbal type, not when it came to feelings.

 

John made his way downstairs, still in his pyjamas. Still no Sherlock, but the windows in the kitchen were wide open. John hadn't realized how warm it really was but now that he was fully awake he noticed it must be about 20° outside, unusual for England in March. And that also explained why Sherlock was nowhere in sight. With a smile spreading over his face John moved to the living room window and there he was.

 

In the corner of the garden Sherlock was removing the winter covers from the bee hives. He was still in his pyjamas, but at least had thrown on a dressing gown. John's. He hadn't bothered to put on shoes and his naked toes flexed in the grass. His hair was a complete mess.

 

And in that moment John didn't feel his aching muscles any more. And he wasn't worried about getting old. Because it was spring and he would happily spend the whole season standing at the window, looking at the impossible man he loved, who was busy with his ridiculous and utterly _wonderful_ bees.


End file.
